


Into The Trees

by early_sunsets_over_moronville



Series: Unrelated Original Works Based On Song Lyrics (Cos Why Not?) [3]
Category: Original Work, The Cure (Band)
Genre: Blood, TW GRAPHIC VOILENCE, TW evil plants, creepy voices, gothic ish???, idek, mildly supernatural??, tw death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24073972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/early_sunsets_over_moronville/pseuds/early_sunsets_over_moronville
Summary: Come closer and seeSee into the treesFind the girl if you canCome closer and seeSee into the darkJust follow your eyesJust follow your eyesI hear her voiceCalling my nameThe sound is deepIn the darkI hear her voiceAnd start to runInto the treesInto the treesInto the treesSuddenly I stopBut I know it's too lateI'm lost in a forestAll aloneThe girl was never thereIt's always the sameI'm running towards nothingAgain-A Forest, The Cure
Series: Unrelated Original Works Based On Song Lyrics (Cos Why Not?) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736692





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Cures A Forest, which is great. 
> 
> As ever, comments and kudos will be treasured. I crave validation.

Picture a small town. A small town, in the middle of nowhere, with a single landline and a single electric light. A small town, with green grass and a blue lake and a red brick hall at the end of the road. The sort of place where tourists come and call it ' _quaint_ ', and where artists come and call it ‘ _picturesque_ ’ and where they all just secretly wonder why _no one ever seems to leave_.

* * *

At the edge of the town is a forest.

Everybody talks about the town. Nobody talks about the forest.

_The forest is old, and the town is new. Their lives are borrowed, and the lake is blue._

* * *

Picture a forest, unlike any you’ve seen before.

Gnarled, twisted trees, with leering faces carved into the bark, looming over the undergrowth. Thick, spikey clumps of vegetation, more tangled than a mind and twice as deadly. A forest bound together with writhing shadows and waiting nightmares, with the whispers of mothers to young children in the night and the blood of those foolish enough to dismiss these words of wisdom as mere fairy tales.

 _Because even fairy tales have to begin somewhere_.

* * *

It's been too long. They nearly forget. 

The corpse of Sarah's teenage daughter,covered in brambles and blood, mutilated beyond recognition, reminds them.

Reminds them to fear The Forest.

Reminds them of what happened once and will again.

Reminds them.


	2. Chapter 2

All Hallows Eve. The moon is milky white, and bloated as it sits across the midnight sky. It's a blue moon, and is all too pleased with itself for knowing so.

Across the world, the little kids, in their tacky witches outfits, feast on bucket loads of sweets, like some sort of ravenous creature from the deep. 

Not in this village.

It's a warm night. The air is heavy and damp and hot, dulling the senses and smothering the mind. The faint breeze is no refuge- an ice cold embrace, slicing through the humidity like a stiletto knife, all blue and silver.

The air crackles. The power is almost audible. The undercurrent of darkness which snakes through the streets is bursting its banks. 

No one ventures out. Not a man, not a cat, not a mouse, not a flea. They clutch their children tightly, and knock back glass after glass of warm ale, and they do not talk. The haunted look in their eyes says enough.

This year it's different. They know it. But they ignore it, as one must do, to tell themselves its nothing, just _unfounded folklore_ and _idle superstition._

But there is nothing unfounded about folklore. 

And nothing idle about superstition. 

_They would do well to remember that_.

* * *

A voice. There is _always_ a voice. 

For Peter, it was a large blue voice, telling tales of dragons and knights in shining armour, of pretty men and fearsome ladies, tales of a world where he was not wrong or broken, but happy.

For young Lucy, it was a dark red voice, thin yet melodic, singing the lullabies of the dead.

For Kate, the voice was twisting and purple, weaving words to create a place where she could sit and talk, to the ravens and the cats and the souls of the dead. It took its time, for the child was protected by the ghosts of the past, but she was as broken as the rest, in body and mind, and eventually she was taken too.

* * *

Tonight the voice is a twisting mess. Dark green, so dark it could almost be black, was entwined with the deepest purple known to man. It called.It was thin and weak, yet carried strong; hauntingly beautiful cries for help. In each house, the sound-proofed doors did not completely do their job, as wisps of the song floated tauntingly into their minds.

But it did not want them. Not today.

* * *

It called his name, begged for him to come. It pleaded for help, and when that didn't work, it sang him his memories. The childhood friend who got lost in the forest. The sister who never returned. 

He ran then, feet silent upon the ground, shrouded by mist and shadows darker than the night. 

Towards the voice, _always_ towards the voice. 

_Save me Help me Save me Help me_

A sliver of moonlight, hardly enough to penetrate the gloom, danced idly among the tops of the leaves. 

_Save me Help me Save me Help me_

The claws of long dead trees tore at his flesh, the crimson blood the only colour in the never-ending black. 

_Save me Help me Save me Help me_

Thick vines captured his ankles and wrists, branding the pale skin with intricate, red tattoos as he was dragged down to the mud. 

_Save me Help me Save me Help me_

But now it was he that said it, the lost broken child, engulfed in the darkness and shrouded in fear. 

_Save me Help me Save me Help me_

_Save me Help me Save me Help me_

_Save me_

And all at once, his flesh was pierced and the blood gushed out. His heart, valiantly trying to stay alive, hovered for a moment before ripping to shreds, as though some unknown presence had pulled it apart. Scarlet ribbons tore themselves from his skeleton, which had been stained a dirty claret. 

A scream, a silent scream, frozen on the blood-splattered lips. 

Frozen for all eternity.

Screaming forever.

And then the wind whispered in a voice that was barely there, a quiet, high pitched voice that was no more than a breath, and sang.

_Save me Help me_

_Save me Help me_

_Save me Help me_

_Save me_

_Help_


End file.
